A Meeting
by MadeleineGm
Summary: It's World War II, and Britain pays a visit to a neutral America with the hope of convincing him to join the Allies. But America doesn't have time for the Allies, and neither does Alfred.


**This is my first fan fiction, I know it's not very good, but I hope you can enjoy it. :)**

* * *

Alfred is working when he hears a knock at the door of his White House office.

"Come in." He says, not bothering to look up from his papers.

His assistant, Sarah, opens the door. "Britain is here, he wants to speak with you." She says. She stares at him expectantly from the doorway.

Alfred presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose, and feels a headache begin to form. "He's here? Why?" He questions her, his exasperation revealing itself as a slight edge in his tone.

She shifts, and her expression turns to something like pity, or exhaustion. Maybe both. "Why do you think?"

He sighs. She was right. He knew exactly why Arthur was here, how could he forget? Arthur wanted to drag Alfred into a war he damn well knew he didn't want to be a part of. "Let him in." He says, and immediately regrets it. He knows the way this meeting will go, they've all gone the same. Yet Arthur still tries. It's admirable, really.

Sarah shakes her head just slightly, but it's enough for him to notice. She turns to leave and he can hear the echoing sounds of her clicking heels as the makes her way down the hall. Soon the sound is joined by heavy bootsteps that contrast heavily from the delicate sounds of his assistant's footfalls. She reappears in the doorway with a man he recognizes as Arthur. He looks terrible, Alfred notes. The man's face was decorated with cuts, bandages, and dirt, his blonde hair wild and untamed, his once powerful frame was skinny and almost weak-looking. But Arthur held himself high, refusing to look defeated. His eyes met Alfred's own, and they were full of determination.

The American clears his throat. "Have a seat." He offers, gesturing towards one of the two seats in front of his desk. Arthur gratefully sits down, just barely resisting the urge to let himself sink into the chair's soft cushioning. "Why are you here?"

Arthur stares at him, and takes a breath. "I..." he hesitates, "I need your help."

Alfred almost laughs. Those are words he thought he would never hear come out of his former caretaker's mouth. They sit in silence for a few moments before Alfred decides to speak. "You know I can't." And the American nation can feel his eyes begin to burn.

"Please." Britain said, his voice coming out in barely a whisper. "I wouldn't be here if I thought there was any other way. Do you think I want to drag you into this?"

"Isnt that why you're here?"

The British nation is beginning to become frustrated, and Alfred can tell. He knows Arthur too well. "Germany is trying to take over out entire continent, our people are being bombed out of their own homes, and I fear that Francis may not be able to take it much longer." His voice is steadily rising. "This is not just another war, Alfred."

"I don't want it to be like the last time." Alfred says.

This doesn't satisfy Arthur, though. "Let me be _very_ clear with you, _America_." He spits the words out like they are vile on his tongue. "I _do not care_ what you want. The world does not care what you want. What you want does not matter right now. What matters is how many people are dying right now, what _matters_ is that Germany is trying to take lands that are not his, what matters is that if you do not help us, we could very well lose this war." His voice is low, angry. It almost scares Alfred. Almost. "He will not stop at Europe. Once he has us, he will come for you, too."

"I can't send my people out to die in a war that does not concern us!" Alfred yells, ignoring Arthur's last statement. He is very good at ignoring things. "I can't let them down again. I have already made so many mistakes." And he thinks back to the last ten years, how there was no money, how he had let his citizens down. He'd let his greed take him over again. And they'd suffered as a result.

Arthur's expression changes for a moment, but Alfred can't identify what it changed to before it's back to its previous emotion. Arthur speaks, his voice waivering only slightly. "After everything I've done for you, everything I've given you, and you would leave me out to die?"

And for once, Alfred cannot find anything to say. He is hurt, angry, and sad that cannot do anything for the man who raised him. But he can't find the words to tell him, to tell Arthur, everything he wants to say. He cannot find the words to tell him he can't help him, not matter how much he wants to. But he supposes the water burning his eyes and the finality with which he stands from his chair and walks towards the window is enough to let Arthur know his answer.

Arthur sits, staring hard into the wall behind Alfred's now empty chair. He is in disbelief. He really thought Alfred would give in. But now he would have to go back to Europe, beaten by the most horrific war it had ever seen, and keep fighting. London had been right, Alfred would not budge on his decision. Not even for Arthur.

He stands, looking at the other man staring out the window, his frame outlined by the afternoon sun outside. One hand on his chin, the other held tightly across his abdomen, the golden rays making his blond hair sparkle more than usual. Arthur is jealous of how strong Alfred looks, and he realizes how untouched by the war Alfred truly is. But he is still angry and disgusted with him, and he is determined to let him know it.

Arthur draws in a breath. "I know we have never agreed or gotten along with each other, but I _never_ thought that you, of all people, would do this to me." And he slams the door as he leaves, not looking back.

Maybe if he'd had, he'd have noticed the tears slipping down Alfred's cheeks.


End file.
